Discarded Fiancée: The Ruthless Billionaire's Obsession

The crystal chandelier casts a blinding light over the ballroom, but Jeannette feels nothing but ice in her veins. She glides past a waiter, her long fingers elegantly plucking a crystal flute of champagne from his silver tray. She raises her hand and taps her manicured fingernail against the thin glass. Clink. Clink. Clink. The sound is delicate, but in the crowded room, it acts like a magnet. Several Wall Street executives standing nearby turn their heads. When they see her, their conversations die instantly. The silence ripples outward like a wave. People stop talking. Heads turn. Hundreds of eyes lock onto the woman in the blood-red dress. The disgraced, bankrupt daughter of the Beaumont family, who was supposed to be hiding in Europe, is standing in the center of their most exclusive party. Near the main stage, Devyn is mid-laugh, trying to impress a senator. He notices the sudden shift in the room's energy. Annoyed, he turns his head. His eyes land on Jeannette. Devyn's hand jerks violently. The champagne in his glass sloshes over the rim, spilling onto his expensive Italian leather shoes. All the blood drains from his face, leaving him looking like a corpse. His brain short-circuits. Why is she here? How did she get in? Standing next to him, Zara sees Jeannette too. Zara's eyes widen in sheer panic. Guilt and jealousy twist her features, and she instinctively takes a step back, trying to hide behind Devyn's broad shoulders. Jeannette sees their terror. A dark, vicious thrill shoots through her stomach. She stops walking. She looks directly at Devyn, raises her champagne glass in a mock toast, and smiles. It is a smile completely devoid of warmth. It is a declaration of war. The crowd begins to buzz. The scent of scandal is thick in the air. In the darkest, most exclusive corner of the VIP section, Kian Koch sits at the head table. He is leaning back in his chair, one hand resting on the silver handle of his cane. His dark eyes are locked onto Jeannette. Several tech billionaires sitting near him try to strike up a conversation, but they take one look at Kian's face and swallow their words. Kian is watching Jeannette stalk her prey like a proud, lethal swan. The raw admiration in his chest burns hot, mixing with a possessive hunger that makes his muscles tight. He tilts his head slightly. Gerry leans in from the shadows. "Lock the doors," Kian murmurs, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "Tell security no one leaves. Confiscate the cameras of any press trying to exit." "Right away, sir," Gerry whispers, tapping his earpiece. Within seconds, Kian's men move like ghosts, sealing the ballroom into a gilded cage. Devyn finally snaps out of his shock. He realizes he has to stop Jeannette before she opens her mouth. He shoves his empty glass onto a passing tray and takes a heavy step toward her. Suddenly, three older, incredibly wealthy real estate moguls-men Devyn has been trying to court for months-step directly into his path. "Devyn, my boy!" one of them booms, clapping a heavy hand on Devyn's shoulder. "I was just looking for you. Let's talk about that downtown project." Devyn sweats. He tries to push past them politely. "Gentlemen, please, excuse me for one moment-" "Nonsense! Have a drink with us," another insists, physically blocking his way. Devyn doesn't know that Gerry ordered these men to stall him. He is trapped, forced to watch helplessly as Jeannette walks closer and closer. The crowd parts for her automatically. She walks straight up to Zara. She stops less than three feet away. Zara can't handle the suffocating pressure of Jeannette's stare. She forces a trembling, sickly-sweet smile onto her face. "Jeannette... sister. What a surprise. We thought you were sick in Paris." Jeannette doesn't blink. She doesn't say a word. She simply tilts her wrist and throws the entire glass of cold champagne directly into Zara's face. The liquid splashes violently against Zara's skin, ruining her perfect makeup and soaking her expensive hair. Zara shrieks, a high-pitched, ugly sound that echoes off the vaulted ceiling. She covers her face, completely humiliated in front of the entire Boston elite. Jeannette calmly hands her now-empty glass to a stunned waiter passing by, not even breaking eye contact with the couple. Devyn finally breaks free from the moguls. He lunges forward, his face twisted in rage. He grabs Jeannette's arm, his fingers digging into her bare skin. "What the hell is wrong with you?" he hisses through his teeth. Jeannette looks down at his hand on her arm. "Take your hand off me," Jeannette says. Her voice isn't loud, but it cuts through the room like a razor blade. "Before I break it." In the shadows, Kian's hand grips his cane so hard the metal groans. He is half out of his chair, ready to tear Devyn's arm off, but he forces himself to wait. This is her moment. Devyn snarls, but the absolute murder in Jeannette's eyes makes him instinctively release her.